


The Space Between

by InitialA



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cecil is Human, Complete, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Moving, New Job, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), POV Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The funding for Carlos' scientific jaunt into Night Vale has been pulled. Carlos is immediately reassigned to a new position--halfway across the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two

**Author's Note:**

> http://initiala.tumblr.com

“Sir, wait, please—”

The phone slipped in Carlos’ hand as he heard the director say, “ _Look, Carlos, I’m sorry. But my hands are tied. They need you here on Monday.”_

The call ended. Carlos slumped against the wall. _What am I going to tell Cecil?_

\---

“What?” Cecil asked. His face was ashen. _No._

“The administration pulled the plug. We’re done here. I’m leaving Friday,” Carlos said monotonously.

“You… No. You can’t leave. You can’t!” Cecil’s voice was reaching a pitch he hated.

“Why? New City Council ordinance?” Carlos asked as Cecil began to pace. He missed the note of hope in the question, staring at the floor as he circled the area, his long fingers twisting around each other as he thought.

“What? No, of course not. That would be ridiculous,” Cecil scoffed, his mind working at light speed. “We’d never get any new tourists, and any Desert Bluffs football supporters would be trapped here. City Council knows better than that. No, I mean… You shouldn’t leave Night Vale.”

_Leave me,_ he wanted to add. But he knew he and Carlos weren’t on the same level in their relationship. Truthfully, he’d been in this relationship for a year longer than Carlos had, so it was understandable. That Carlos was telling him in person, and not using the convenient screen of a phone, spoke volumes for how much he cared about him and respected him. “We need you.” _I need you._ “Who else is going to warn us about the sugar turning into black holes, or seek out the invisible clock tower? Isn’t there anything we can do?”

We. They’d been ‘we’ for so little time, and now… Carlos was pinching the bridge of his nose, his glasses in his other hand. “They already assigned me to another position in Virginia… They think the data we gathered here might help with some of the major projects going on there. Cecil… they want me to head the research department there.”

Carlos pushed his hair off his forehead—his perfect hair, hair he wouldn’t get to touch—sounding wistful as he said it. “It’s… it’s an amazing opportunity…”

“It sounds like it…” Cecil’s voice sounded as hollow as he felt.

“Cecil…”

He stopped pacing. “I’ll go with you.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“To Virginia. I’ll come. I haven’t left Night Vale in… well, I don’t really know how long. A fresh perspective.”

“Cecil, you’d hate it,” Carlos said.

“It’ll be fun.”

“You can’t go into a public library with a crossbow.”

Cecil frowned slightly; crossbows _were_ his favorite weapon against the Librarians, but he could make do with a blow dart in a pinch. Carlos continued, “Night Vale… there’s a reason I came to study it. It’s so… so different than the rest of the country. You’d go crazy in a week. There’s no… small armies living under bowling alleys, no angels, normal dog parks with dogs… no lights above—” He cut off suddenly, and cleared his throat, abruptly turning. His voice cracked when he said, “Besides… you can’t let Jackson the Miner overtake you in the record number of re-educations, right?”

“What if I need you more than I need all of that?” Cecil asked.

“What would you do for a job?”

“There are other radio stations.”

“Under normal management, with no regular intern deaths.”

“I could use a break from that! Even unexpected death becomes mundane!”

“Cecil…”

“Don’t you… don’t you want me to come?” He hated sounding like that, but his heart hurt too much.

Carlos rushed him, pressing their foreheads together as his hand slid up his neck to cup his ear. “I do,” he murmured. “I do, but I know you, Cecil. And I know Night Vale. And I know Virginia. And you belong here.”

_I belong with you_ , he wanted to scream. But the words died in his throat when he looked, really looked, at Carlos’ face. This hurts him too. He doesn’t want to deny him this chance to be together. But this is Carlos. If he thinks… if he _knows_ that Cecil wouldn’t be happy… “You’re really sure about this?”

Carlos only nodded.

“Okay…” Cecil breathed, and he’s breaking into a million pieces inside with that two-syllable word. City Council should outlaw that word. ‘Okay’ isn’t okay anymore, it’s the death of Cecil and Carlos. The alpha and omega of their relationship: Carlos was okay. Now they’re not okay.

“I want you to call me,” Carlos said.

“For personal reasons?” The attempt at a joke fell weakly before them, but Carlos still chuckled. “For anything.”

“Can I visit?”

“I’d be hurt if you didn’t.”

_But I can’t come permanently…_ Carlos met his eyes, like he read his mind. “Maybe…” he said softly, “Maybe if you visit and you find it’s okay… maybe then you can move in?”

They part on that note of hope.

\---

Friday.

Carlos knocked on Cecil’s door, a package in hand. He waited for a while, and then knocked again. He didn’t bother with the doorbell—Cecil said he needed to have it rewired, not to mention the last time it had tried to burn his fingerprints off with acid. After twenty minutes of knocking he started to grow worried. “Cecil?” He hollered, banging on the door this time. “Cecil, it’s me!”

He stepped back, looking at all of the windows, seeing if there was a light somewhere. Even with all of the blackout curtains drawn back, there was nothing. He walked around towards the garage, peering in to see if Cecil’s car was parked there.

It wasn’t.

Carlos’ heart sank. His flight was leaving soon. He had told Cecil what time he was leaving, hoping that he would see him off.

He slumped as he walked back to the front door, leaving the package there on the step. He glanced down at the garden gnome standing guard. “Please… I know he’s unhappy with me, but don’t let him throw this away or just ignore it.”

The gnome nodded once.

Carlos got into the car and left, hoping that the plane would still be able to take off, even if one of its passengers felt like his very bones had turned to lead.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giving Night Vale a location based on the fact that Ralph’s exists only in California. I’m sure there are other location-specific things that exist in the town that doesn’t make sense, but I can’t think of any at the moment. :) Also, tragedy of tragedies, I have given Carlos a last name. It’s Spanish, I promise.

Had it really only been a month since leaving Night Vale?

It felt so much longer.

And at the same time, so much shorter. After more than a year in the town that didn’t make sense, Carlos was having a hard time readjusting to consistent sunrises and sunsets, to days that lasted a mere 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 4.1 seconds, to forests that didn’t speak, to an Arby’s that held no significance in his life. Less difficult to understand was his constant wearing of sweaters; Virginia was no southern California. It helped that a few of these sweaters were Cecil’s—he’d always insisted that the station management’s body temperature (if indeed management _had_ a body) was sub-arctic, and it affected the entire radio station. They were mostly grays and purples, fraying a bit at the elbows and wrists, with a distinct coffee scent to them. Even if he had washed them multiple times (which he was avoiding doing), Carlos was fairly certain the coffee scent was just a part of the fabric now.

His staff couldn’t be better. They were respectful, worked well together, and were eager to put to use the data he’d gathered in Night Vale. The operations ran much smoother than he could have ever anticipated; though he couldn’t be sure if that was because he’d spent so much time in a place where even finding a pencil, and subsequently the appropriate paperwork to allow a pencil to be used, could turn out to be an all-day affair, or if he’d just never worked in such a calm environment before.

But some days, he would retreat into his office and turn on the radio. It was his radio from Night Vale, and his vain hope that somehow, thanks to government tampering, it would pick up Cecil’s show on the other side of the country was becoming dimmer and dimmer.

They hadn’t spoken since he left.

He tried to call, of course. As soon as he’d landed in Fairfax, he called Cecil’s cell to let him know he’d arrived safely. But no sooner had he put his phone to his ear when he heard, “ _We’re sorry; the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. If you feel you have received this message in error, please check the number and try your call again_.”

He’d texted and e-mailed, to no avail. The e-mails bounced back, the texts remained error messages in his outbox. Carlos had even sent a traditional letter, but after almost three weeks, he was sure it had been eaten by some stray hooded figure’s dog.

Some days, he wasn’t even sure if he hadn’t hallucinated the last year entirely. Cecil. Night Vale. Being attacked by tiny armies. Creating lasers to fight shadow monsters, using water balloons as technical warfare. If he was in another person’s shoes, listening to his stories, he wouldn’t believe it.

But it had happened.

The logical part of Carlos’ brain said that, based on everything he had learned in the last year, it was most likely that Night Vale existed within a web of its own technology, and outsiders were not permitted in. Night Vale Community Radio ruled the airways; there was no such thing as NPR. Cell phones? Sure, pick up yours at City Hall. Carlos had cancelled his Night Vale cell service before leaving, though he hung on to the phone. He’d been hoping for a spare moment to see how all of the bugging and wire taps worked if he took it apart, but time had not been on his side (that was one good thing about the unknowable time in Night Vale: there was usually enough time to get to all of his projects in one day)

He took it out now. It still powered on. But the warning label at the top, _No Service, Where Are You and How Did You Get This Phone?_ , discouraged him, and he switched it off again.

Another month passed. It got colder. The leaves started to change. And Carlos spent more and more time locked away in the lab, a stack of coffee mugs around him as he worked through the latest problems their tests had given. His staff grew worried.

Finally, around Halloween, they drew straws. A mousy young man drew the short one, and was ushered forward by the others. “Um… Dr. Saber, are you… I mean, is there anything you need to talk about?”

Carlos looked up, bleary-eyed. His salt-and-pepper stubble was well on its way to being called an actual beard. He was ashy under his ruddy complexion. “Sorry?”

“It’s just that… sir, you’ve been working almost nonstop for days now. We just… we were concerned. If you need to talk about anything, we’re always…”

“No… no, it’s alright. Just… domestics. It’s fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“You know what would help?” Carlos asked, straightening slightly. “If you all would get back to work. We can get this project solved and results in by Thanksgiving if you focused.”

They balked at the slight rebuke, but Carlos found himself not caring. All that mattered now was the work.

Every time he found himself wondering why Cecil hadn’t called, he threw himself more into the work. More coffee, more espresso. He’d left his new number and address with his gift. The least he could have done was… Carlos didn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

If Cecil wanted to be done, that was that. Clean breaks were nice, but you couldn’t have it all. Unfinished books, the last pages left unwritten. If that was the end of their story, so be it.

\---

Around Christmastime, they finished the project Carlos had thrown himself headlong into. The results were shipped off to the folks who signed their checks, and Carlos granted everyone the rest of the month off for the holidays. Carlos himself went back to his dark apartment, and flung himself onto the couch, letting the television bathe him in bluish-white light.

He was a little less worse for the wear these days, but thinking about Cecil still hurt. At least he was remembering to shave regularly, and the mousy scientist had been tasked with making sure he ate something more nutritious than a donut and sixteen cups of coffee a day.

He still had the Night Vale phone. It was almost habit, every few days turning it on and checking to see if there were any signs of life. Of that strange town ever existing at all.

Carlos had just turned it on again when the Santa on screen—he tried not to think about Cecil describing the ways in which Santa was a fake—said, “ _And what do_ you _want for Christmas, little boy?”_

“I just want Cecil…” Carlos whispered. “All I want is to talk to Cecil.”

“You could have just _asked_ , you know,” a tinny voice in his hand said.

Carlos almost jumped out of his skin, and looked at the Night Vale phone. It lit up in a cheerfully dramatic way, reading: _Calling: Cecil Palmer._


	3. One

“Carlos!” Cecil banged on the window as Carlos walked down the path and back to his car. Of all the days for City Council to schedule Invisibility Tuesday (which were never on Tuesdays, caused muteness in certain citizens and massive power outages in the Pinkberry on every prime hour, and most residents forgot that they were still supposed to wear some kind of clothing, resulting in some highly embarrassing moments when everyone regained visibility—which occurred at random)

He turned to beat against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid! And closing the doors on a Friday, he knew better! If city ordinances hadn’t mandated all windows be nailed shut in wake of the tiny underground civilization war, he would have just gone out that way; the secret police were always happy when screens were missing, as it gave a clearer view into the house. Maybe if he thought about it hard enough…

His insides twisted, and Cecil found himself on his front step. He ran down the path and into the street, waving his arms and shouting after the car that was already turning the corner and out of his life, possibly forever.

Cecil swore that if all of his thoughts weren’t being recorded for the benefit of future generations, he would have some _very choice words_ to think.

Instead, he shuffled back up the path, and sat down dejectedly on the stoop. The garden gnome gave a little sigh. Cecil looked down at the package Carlos had left. “He left this for me?”

The gnome nodded once. Cecil tore the wrapping off, and opened it. There was a note:

                _I know this is probably not on the approved reading list,_  
                _but it’s one of my favorites. I’ve had this copy for years though,_  
 _and thought it might like a new owner._  
 _I’m sorry about all of this, really, I am. I already miss you, and I_  
 _haven’t even left yet._  
 _I love you._  
 _-Carlos_

Under his signature was an address in Virginia, and a phone number with the words “PLEASE CALL” underlined six or seven times. He took out the book, a well-loved copy of Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ —Cecil might have laughed at the idea that this wasn’t on the approved reading list (it was first grade, practically!), if he wasn’t feeling so… confused. He was heartbroken at not getting to say goodbye properly, but… He ran his thumb lightly over the words “I love you”.

Carlos loved him.

\---

The town was practically buzzing with gossip about Cecil and Carlos (and, to be fair, it was _actually_ buzzing with the drone of the annual African killer bee migration). Old Woman Josie’s angel friends were clearly the source, as Cecil himself hadn’t mentioned anything about their relationship on air in weeks. There had been the announcement that Carlos was leaving, but he’d saved his heartbreak for himself.

And yet somehow everyone knew that Carlos had left a note with the Three Big Words, and Cecil had tragically been stricken invisible at the time of his departure. Cecil had managed to write a clever turn of phrase about the possibility of installing a new wind farm with all of the gusts they’d been having lately; enough people had understood the subtext to take all of the gossip underground.

Yet even if the angels hadn’t spread the word around, the listeners of NVCR would have picked up on something amiss eventually. As the weeks wore on, Cecil’s usual upbeat cadence was dropping to a more monotonous, lackluster drone that made even good news (like the announcement that free ice cream would be given out at Jerry’s Taco Stand at midnight on the night of the full moon) sound dreadful. The Voice of Night Vale was depressed, and it was spreading.

Cecil woke one morning, still exhausted from the winter solstice riots the night before, to a message from Intern Dana. It read simply “Talk about it, or I’m sending the hooded figures after you. They’re quite scared of me now.”

There wasn’t any confusion about what ‘it’ was.

That night, Cecil tossed aside his prepared paperwork and began his show a little differently than usual. “Listeners, let there be no more pretense about this. You know, and I know, that things have been rather… downbeat these past weeks, since our dear… perfect Carlos left. It is with the threat of hooded figures over my head that I tell you my story. Welcome to Night Vale.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as the intro music faded out, and took a shaky breath. “Dear listeners, I want to begin by apologizing for how you have all been affected by this tragedy. It’s actually quite touching to know that you feel our little town’s loss as deeply as I do. But lest we let the rumor mill run unchecked forevermore, I want to talk about Carlos.

“Dear, sweet, perfect Carlos. He left us some weeks ago. Something about “government funding” and “mandatory reassignment” fueled this sudden departure, leaving a Carlos-shaped hole in all of our lives. Listeners, I may only be a community radio host, but I feel that I speak for all of us when I say that perhaps this “government” that Carlos works for doesn’t have the interest of its constituents truly at heart. Why, if they did, Carlos would still be here! It truly saddens me to think that other parts of this country bow to the whims of such an awful power.”

His phone buzzed on his desk. He could see the message without moving from the microphone. It was from Intern Dana: “Stop sugar-coating it.”

He sighed. “Listeners, I am being told by Intern Dana, who is still trapped in the dog park, that I am sugar-coating this tale of woe, and that I should stop immediately.”

Another buzz. “I’m sending a hooded figure after you anyway.”

Cecil rolled his eyes. Interns! Get them locked into an alternate pocket dimension filled with mysterious figures for six or seven months, and suddenly they feel like they have all the power in the world. “As I was saying. Carlos left us on a Friday, which tragically also happened to be an unannounced Invisibility Tuesday. As you all know, residents who were not born here in our little burg are not affected by Invisibility Tuesdays, and nor are they capable of communicating with the invisible. I’m sure that, had Carlos remained in town, he would have launched a study about our invisibility. With time, I’m sure he would have been able to lay to rest the eternal argument on whether or not our souls remain on this plane of existence, while our bodies are transported to another, or if our sudden invisibility is due to that genetic splicing experiment with the chameleons that was abruptly swept away in the 1970s.

“Carlos left me a gift, dear listeners. He claims it was his most beloved book—and I know, I know, only books on the municipally-approved reading list are banned, but the most perfect thing about Carlos is that even if he isn’t aware of it, he’s constantly following our town’s laws. I dread to think how I might have reacted when the Sherriff’s Secret Police came barreling down my front lawn to claim a gift from Carlos, even if it was a banned book.

“Anyway, his copy of _Frankenstein_ now rests on my shelf beside other classics, such as _Who Moved My Cheese? Was It You, Cthulu? Come On Now, We’ve Been Through This Before_ , and _The Abridged Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus_. With the gift was a note; and while you are all aware of the contents of the note, I want to acknowledge it now.”

Cecil’s voice cracked a bit as he said, “Carlos loves me.”

He paused. He could almost hear the town waiting for him to continue. Intern Hugo was watching from the other side of the glass with a look of mixed pity and sadness, and even the station management wasn’t causing any ruckus in response to Cecil’s unprofessional show. “Listeners, with the note was his new address and phone number. Of course, I have tried contacting him many times, even resorting to messenger birds, but alas…

“Part of me wonders if I offended an ancient god by not following through in some sort of ritual, and his or her or its offense manifests in my inability to contact him.”

Cecil took a breath, and found the words he wanted to say died in his throat. He was too afraid to voice aloud the idea that maybe Carlos’ sign of affection was actually a good-bye. Instead, he went for the non-sequitur: “And now, the weather.”

The weather ran long that day, which was good because Cecil needed more than four minutes to compose himself in the men’s restroom. Khoshekh and his kittens peered at him curiously as he splashed water into his face and wiped it off. One of the kittens bit his ear, a sign he knew to be one of affection; it didn’t hurt that much, anyway, and he scratched under its chin in response. He checked his watch, and went back to the sound booth in time for the weather to end. Instead of continuing the confessional, he read off the reports from earlier that day, and finished off the night with a traffic report. “And as always… thank you, for listening. Good night, Night Vale, good night.”

Intern Hugo came in as Cecil switched off his equipment. “Is that it?”

Cecil looked up. “Is what it?”

“That’s the end of you and Carlos?”

Cecil looked away. His phone was alight with several angry messages from Dana. “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown,” he quoted. “I don’t know, Hugo. And that is why I am afraid.”

He scrolled through Dana’s messages as he left the station. He would have to think of some way to appease the hooded figures, if her messages were anything to go by. He started to slip his phone into his pocket when it started buzzing again. He looked at the screen, and his heart leaped. _Incoming Call: Carlos Saber._

“ _Carlos_.”


	4. Together

“Cecil?”

“ _Carlos_!”

Carlos sat up too quickly; his head spun for a moment. “Oh my—”/“ _How did you_ —”

He blinked. “ _I was just_ —”/“I wanted to—”

“You go first.”/“ _You go first_.”

Carlos chuckled; he heard Cecil snort on the other end. “Ah… okay. Let’s not talk at the same time. I go, you go, et cetera.”

“ _Deal_.”

“So… I’m sorry?”

“ _I think I should apologize first, and explain_.”

Carlos listened to Cecil explaining the trifecta of bad news bears that had happened the day he left; if it were anyone else, anyone at all, he was sure he’d barely listen to the explanation before cutting him off with a curt ‘Thanks, and goodbye’. But this was Cecil. And this was Night Vale. He hadn’t spent a year there for no reason at all. Hell, when Cecil finished, Carlos said, “That’s all? I mean… I’ve been thinking of some strange scenarios… but that one is mild in comparison.”

Cecil spluttered on the other end; Carlos had somehow forgotten that in the last few months. The normally eloquent Cecil was prone to no more than squawks of outrage and random syllables thrown together when he was absolutely at his limit. “ _What do you mean_ , that’s all?! _And here I was, depressed and thinking you hated me!_ ”

“Well, I did for a while.”

“ _What?!”_

“Cecil, calm down. I called you when I landed, but apparently no Night Vale phone numbers exist outside of Night Vale. I thought you hated me for leaving and got a new phone number and deleted your email or something. So I kind of hated you for that for a while. When I got tired of being so angry, I got depressed. Eventually, my employees ganged up on me and made me talk it out, and that’s when the pieces started falling into place.”

“ _I think it was established a long time ago that it will be absolutely impossible for me to ever hate you_.”

“I’m glad,” Carlos said softly. “And I’m glad the secret police can still somehow track my phone out here.”

“ _No problem, kid. You should have heard this guy’s show tonight. Eddie over here, he practically begged me to hook you two up again after listening to that_ ,” a third voice said.

Carlos wasn’t even surprised at the intrusion. It was actually a little comforting. “Well, thanks.”

“ _So… you don’t hate me_.”

“I don’t. As long as you don’t hate me.”

“ _Never._ ”

“I missed you,” Carlos said.

“ _I did too. Everyone does, really_ ,” Cecil said. “ _But mostly me. I make up at least eighty percent of the combined ‘missing-Carlos’ emotions_.”

Carlos smiled, and leaned into the couch. He opened his mouth, and then realized he didn’t know what to say. So many weeks of just… _wanting_ to talk to Cecil, about everything and anything, and now that he could? Nothing. That was the definite drawback to phones. There wasn’t room for a lot of natural flow of conversation, existing in the same space and commenting about whatever is happening, making jokes, teasing one another. No comparisons of how the Glow Cloud is affecting each other that day. He blinked, and realized that several minutes had passed with neither of them saying anything. “Sorry, I er…”

“ _I was listening to you breathing_.”

“Er…”

“ _This isn’t the same, is it?”_ Cecil asked, worried.

“I was just thinking that…”

They were silent again for a moment. Then, Carlos abruptly jerked the phone from his ear as Cecil yelled, “ _I’ve got it! I’ll come and visit!”_

“Well, that will certainly help. Sure. When do you think you’d be able to come?”

“ _Tomorrow? How does tomorrow work?”_

Carlos blinked. He looked at the calendar. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve…”

“ _What’s that?”_

Oh, right. Christmas wasn’t a ‘thing’ in Night Vale. “It’s… it’s a big holiday, and there’s a lot of travel. Can you even get a flight this last minute?”

“ _Can a hooded figure eat twelve grasshopper pies in under five minutes?”_

“Er… I’m going to assume the answer to that is ‘yes’.”

\---

And that’s how Carlos found himself at the airport on Christmas Eve, trying to dodge last-minute travelers rushing to their gates or to their waiting families. He was an hour early, but by Night Vale time, he might be six hours late. He was never entirely sure how the math worked out. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the flight board and it showed that not only was the flight on time, but he was still early.

He spent the time pacing, mostly, and watching families reunite. While he wasn’t particularly religious, despite growing up in a dual-faith home, he did love the _feel_ of this time of year, and seeing people greet each other after long periods of separation was part of it. He realized after the fifth reunion or so that _he_ was going to be part of one of those reunions very soon, and his stomach flipped over. A swarm of butterflies erupted in his chest, and he started to pace again as he tried to figure out exactly _how_ he was going to greet Cecil. He wasn’t particularly big on public displays of affection, but he needed to do _something_.

An announcement was made overhead about Cecil’s flight arriving at the terminal, and Carlos thought he might actually throw up all over the Santa Claus display.

Somehow, he managed to compose himself long enough to stand near the entrance to the baggage claim, and clasp his hands behind his back. His fingers twitched in anticipation. He was suddenly very grateful for his height as he tried to scan the mass of people for Cecil. Carlos felt an all-too familiar sinking feeling in his chest as the crowd thinned, with no sign of him. He went back to the flight board. His flight was marked as ‘arrived’. Arrived how? Metaphorically? Existentially? Literally? Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. _I lived in Night Vale for far too long._

He raked his fingers through his hair and started walking back towards the baggage claim when he heard, “Carlos?”

He turned. A gangly figure was running towards him. All pretenses were lost. Whatever plan  he’d had flew out of his mind as he braced himself, opened his arms wide, and Cecil threw himself at him. Carlos spun him around as Cecil laughed—and maybe cried, he wasn’t sure—and hugged him tighter.

Eventually, Cecil’s feet touched the floor again, and they untangled their limbs from each other. Carlos cleared his throat. Cecil just grinned. “So, ah, do you have any bags?”

“Just the one.”

They went and collected it. Carlos glanced around discreetly when Cecil took his hand on the way out, but at that point there were too few people around to care. “I’m still impressed you got a flight,” he said as they walked to his car.

“Oh, it was nothing. Intern Dana owed me a favor, and she has a way with the hooded figured these days. It’s very cold, isn’t it?” Cecil asked.

“Oh, right. Here, I brought my spare coat.” Carlos unlocked the doors and heaved the suitcase in the back, dragging the coat out after and handing it to him.

Cecil beamed. “Sweet, perfect Carlos, how very thoughtful of you.”

Carlos, to his eternal embarrassment, found himself blushing. He was an accomplished man with a Ph.D, and several relationships under his belt! Blushing like a schoolboy! He coughed. “I mean, I knew you wouldn’t have one…”

“And so smart, too.”

They got in the car, and waited for it to defrost. “So… was there anything you had in mind to do first?”

“You,” Cecil said.

Carlos felt his face warm even further. Cecil was grinning slyly; were his teeth pointier than he remembered? “Er… Well, ah,” Carlos’ voice pitched to a level heard only by canines, and Cecil grinned wider. “I mean, before we got to that point.”

“Ah, well…” Now it was Cecil’s turn to look abashed. In fact, he looked around, almost guiltily. “Is it… can we…”

Carlos frowned, curious. Cecil’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Can we get a real pizza?”

Carlos laughed, and headed for the nearest pizza place that might still be open.

\---

In bed that night, Carlos slept deeply for the first time since leaving Night Vale, he and Cecil wrapped around each other, fingers intertwined.

\---

The next few days were some of the best he could remember; it was funny, for once being the person who understood everything. Not that Cecil was completely ignorant; he was aware of most things, but as he hadn’t left Night Vale in nigh-on fifteen years (or visited many places that weren’t similar in nature), there were some advances that he needed to catch up on. Night Vale itself was pretty good at keeping up with outside technology, and even surpassing it, but it was still amusing to watch Cecil attempt to talk to the Wii games to command them, instead of using the Wiimote.

But even so, he noticed that after a few days Cecil seemed to be even more exuberant than usual. He would respond more enthusiastically than necessary to simple questions or suggestions; Carlos dreaded it, but it was probably time for Cecil to go home.

The topic was broached cautiously, but even Cecil had to agree that he was having a difficult time adjusting. When they drove back to the airport, Cecil stared at his hands. “This doesn’t bode well, does it?”

“It’s not your fault,” Carlos said. “I had trouble readjusting, and I only spent a year there.”

“But what about…”

Carlos covered Cecil’s hands with one of his. “We’ll figure something out.”

\---

Cecil sighed. It had been a few weeks since his visit to see Carlos, and he was feeling that pit of despair gnawing at him again. He made a mental note to call an exterminator; it was dangerous to just leave despair pits lying around. Whole economies were known to spontaneously combust thanks to a despair pit latching on to a tourist and following them home.

He hit backspace several times, and tried writing out his notes for that night’s show again. The words just wouldn’t come. Words! From him! Why, he could talk his way out of… out of… “Argh! I can’t even make up an eloquent metaphor about my stupid writer’s block!” Cecil shouted, messing his hair up in frustration.

Maybe he should just read right off the script this time, instead of trying to be clever. He was allowed to have an off-night now and again, right? Besides, Intern Gary (Hugo had vanished into the ice cream freezer at the Green Market just after Cecil had returned) wasn’t too bad at rewriting the memos into something vaguely Cecil-like. He sighed. “I just hope station management understands...”

His doorbell rang. Cecil blinked, wondering who it might be, and went to answer. “Hellooooo—Carlos!” He squeaked out the name as the door revealed the scientist, a large suitcase next to him, and a large box under his arm.

“Hey.”

“What… a wonderful surprise!”

“I ah… Well, one of the projects isn’t responding to the data we’re using. I thought it might be because it’s more than a year old. Variables change, particularly here.” Carlos shifted the box slightly to balance it. “So I thought… Well, instead of sending someone unfamiliar with the area out to retest, I might… set up shop again.”

“You’re back?” Cecil asked, his voice almost inaudible.

“Yeah. And since I head the project, I figured that I say who goes where and when. So I’m back… for good,” Carlos grinned, and almost dropped the box as Cecil launched himself at him. He wrapped one arm around him. “They’re always complaining about wanting fresh data anyway, and how I mope when you’re not around.”

Cecil buried his face in Carlos’ shoulder, smelling the recycled oxygen from the plane as well as the spiced antiperspirant Carlos used. _Back… for good._ Cecil yelped, “I have something to write about for tonight’s show!”

Carlos chuckled, the sound vibrating through to Cecil. “Always glad to be a part of the town gossip.”

“So, what’s all this?” Cecil asked as Carlos put him back down.

“Well, I was thinking… until I find a place, would you be alright with me staying with you?”

Cecil contained himself this time, only nodding vigorously. Carlos leaned down, cupped his neck in one hand, and pulled him in as their lips met. “I love you,” he said when they parted.

“I love you too,” Cecil replied.

As they took Carlos’ things inside, he asked, “Oh, I kept forgetting to ask. Where was your car, that day I left?”

Cecil looked over his shoulder. “It went on an existential ramble. It does that every now and then,” he said, as if it were an absolutely rational explanation.

Which, of course, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This last bit was a little choppy, I’m sorry, but that’s my fault for not figuring out the pacing of the story better. ^^;;


End file.
